


Semi-Permanent Markers

by lynnmonster



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-18
Updated: 2009-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-03 08:02:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnmonster/pseuds/lynnmonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All about tattoos, wardrobe, and housing issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Semi-Permanent Markers

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to misspamela and to shayheyred for their eagle eyes; remaining imperfections are all mine. (Written for MissP.)

G Callen didn't have any tattoos. He had scars from bullets and knives and broken glass; he also had fainter lines left by tree-climbing accidents and bicycle joyrides gone bad, and a few almost faded circles roughly the size and shape of the ends of lit cigarettes.

He'd thought about getting inked when he was a teenager, and again when he'd joined up, but he could never come up with a design he was positive he wouldn't get tired of.

"How did you know?" he asked Sam, as they exited the tattoo parlor.

"We still talking about tats?" Sam asked, eyebrow raised.

"Still talking about tats," G confirmed.

"I didn't."

G halted, surprised by the response.

"G," Sam said, his tone loaded with fondness and exasperation and the hint of something uncomfortably close to pity. "Do you really think that if I walked back into that shop after work tonight and asked for something, I would pick _trompe l'oeil_ tiger claws slashing apart the skin of my shoulder blade from the inside?"

G hadn't really thought about it.

Sam inclined his head a little closer to G's, like he was about to tell him a secret. "Just in case you don't know, no. No, I would not."

"But it's ..." G waved his hand at the general vicinity of Sam's back, lamely. "...it's your tattoo. I can't picture you without it."

"Exactly," Sam smiled. "Besides, it's what I wanted at the time."

G frowned and followed Sam back to the car, lagging a little.

* * *

"Do you have any tattoos?" G asked Kensi. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, but no sound came out. "I'm not the lipreader here. You wanna give me a little more to work with than that?"

"You're not hitting on me, right?"

"No. Do you want me to hit on you?" G hadn't considered that possibility.

"No tattoos," she said firmly, and left.

"Hey, Eric, you've probably got some, right?" he asked, but Eric was already headed out the same door Kensi had gone through.

G was glad he could have fun at his job. Some people worked in cubicles.

* * *

They were sitting in a parked car again, and, god, stakeouts never failed to be incredibly boring.

"You thinking about getting some ink?" Sam asked.

"Only if they can tattoo me with your face," G said sweetly, and patted his breastbone. "Right. Over. My. Heart."

Sam snorted. "They'd never be able to do me justice."

"Then I will have to remain tragically free of body art," G concluded, relaxing his neck back into the headrest.

"So what's with all the-- you know what, never mind." Sam shook his head. "Where are you staying tonight?"

"Hey, I love this song," G said flatly and turned up the volume on the radio loud enough to forestall further conversation.

Sam sighed and turned his head to concentrate on watching the entrance to the apartment building.

* * *

"So who are we this time?" Sam asked as they approached the bistro.

"Respectable, hmm... Attorneys? No," G frowned as he looked down at the trendy jeans and fitted knit shirt he was wearing. "Not cops, not reporters, maybe neighborhood watch? But they won't recognize us. New business owners! We just opened a... no." he frowned down at his jeans again. "Boyfriends! We just bought a place in that condo up the street, and we're worried that the property values might be going down, and it will be natural that we don't know all that much about what's been going on so it won't be weird to ask lots of questions." Pleased with himself, he beamed at Sam.

"You. You can't even stay in the same motel for a whole week, and you want to pretend to be a homeowner?"

"Yes!"

"Just let me do all the bitching about escrow, you have no idea," Sam said seriously.

"That's okay, I figured I'd just handle the physical affection and the looking pretty," G said, aiming for an equally serious tone.

A fleeting smile crossed Sam's face. "You do that."

"I'll be a photographer. You can have a day job, you've got the button-down."

"I bring home the bacon?" Sam pulled open the restaurant's heavy wood-and-glass door, ushering G in ahead of him. G stepped inside and turned to address Sam over his shoulder.

"I like to take art photos of you naked, but you don't want me including them in my portfolio." He leered cheerfully. "Sometimes we argue about that."

* * *

The team was upstairs, watching the video of their latest Person of Interest flogging himself on a stage at Burning Man.

Nate was explaining, "...billing itself as an art event held in the Nevada desert every year--"

"We know what Burning Man is," Dom interjected.

"--but the way I see it, it's largely an excuse for doing drugs and having easy sex while gaining counterculture cred." Nate finished.

G's hands curled into fists. "You know, for a psychologist, you're awfully judgmental," he said. "Are you sure you've got a handle on your own insecurities?"

Nate sputtered.

"I was a part of my friend's performance art piece there one year," Eric said, ignoring them both and addressing Dom. "We covered ourselves in mud head to toe and reenacted evolution. All of it."

G was on a roll, though, and kept going. "No, really, you're a big guy, and a professional, and we respect your opinions, mostly. So why do you always do that? Are you afraid we're going to call you a geek and shove you in a locker if you don't make fun of the guy wearing drag, or whatever? Not everybody's the same."

"Callen, that's enough," Hetty said sharply.

"He always does this," G grumbled to himself, and crossed his arms. He didn't know why Nate's casual cattiness always made him so defensive.

"Callen!" Hetty barked.

"Sorry," G said, not sounding sorry at all.

* * *

_You okay?_ Sam didn't ask later, even when they'd left the meeting and the two of them were alone in the wardrobe room.

"That's one of the reasons I love you," G told him sincerely, breaking the companionable silence as he finished slipping into his new shoes.

"What?"

"Plus you're cute when you're all confused, and your eyebrow goes up."

"One of these days, I'm going to kill you in your sleep."

"Looking forward to it."

"If I can _find_ you, that is."

"Give it a rest, Sam."

* * *

G actually liked sleeping on one of the couches at the office, but he was judicious about it. He only let himself do it when he had a legitimate excuse for staying too late, so late that he could have conceivably drifted off while working, or just needed to grab a catnap during an all-nighter. But even though his current motel had a decent mattress and a pool, he didn't like it very much.

Sam didn't look surprised when G had his duffel and his bedroll with him when he walked into the office.

"I'll buy you a tent if you want one," Sam offered. He sounded genuine.

G kissed him on the cheek. "That's okay. I like having a bathroom."

Dom was standing in the foyer, eyes huge, glancing back and forth between the two of them.

Sam just shoved G further into the building and said, "You're twelve."

"Nope, I'm totally legal."

"Then you should be banned."

"Do they do that a lot?" G heard Dom whispering loudly to Kensi.

"Do what?" Kensi asked disingenuously.

Almost out of their range of vision, G grinned and Sam smacked him loudly on the hip.

* * *

Later that morning, Nate settled casually onto the couch next to G. G kept filling out his requisition form.

"So, Callen."

"Mmmm," G agreed without looking up, not wanting to encourage any attempts at Having A Talk.

"It has come to my attention that some of my editorializing could be fostering an inhospitable workplace environment."

"Mmmm."

"More than that, it has perhaps hindered me in my efforts to present myself as an open, unbiased listener capable of offering objective analysis and advice. Which I am." G nodded noncommittally without looking up or making eye contact. "Look, mostly, I was just trying to be funny."

G did look up at that. "And sound superior."

Nate's mouth twisted at the corner a little. "That, too. There's a reason I didn't choose to work directly with actual people, you know."

G looked back down at his paperwork again, but he relaxed his posture enough to let Nate know he was welcome to stay if he wanted.

At the bar that night, Nate got the first round and talked at G for a minute about his latest purchase at Meltdown Comics before grabbing a seat with a better view of the TV. Moments later, Kensi snuck up behind G and slung her arm around his shoulders.

"He seems more laid back," she said, indicating the back of Nate's head with the tilt of her chin. "You should yell at people more often."

"I don't yell at people," G insisted. He'd had enough yelling in his life and he felt no need to add to the tally unnecessarily. "Well," he amended for the sake of completeness, "not unless it's something like, 'Get down!' or 'Drop your weapon!'"

Kensi's brow wrinkled up a little as she looked up and off to the side, thinking. "You're right. Huh," she eventually said. "You don't really yell at people."

G shrugged, uncomfortable with being the object of her prolonged consideration.

Kensi looked at him measuringly for a few seconds. "I think it's nice that you don't," she said gently, and G sat on the urge to bolt until she'd been distracted by another round of drinks and a cute bartender. Then he snuck out and walked along the shoreline for a while.

There were a couple of campers parked along the beach, like giant seashells shining in the moonlight.

* * *

A lot of the RVs at the dealership had been atrocious, but G had to admit that some of the retro-looking ones weren't half-bad.

"I've got a present for you," he told Sam, and dropped a set of keys into his coffee cup.

"Hey!"

G didn't know if Sam was protesting the splash of hot beverage or the desecration of his caffeine delivery system, but either way, his expression was absolutely hilarious.

"Your face!" G laughed, delighted.

"What the hell, G? Wait, were those _keys_?"

"Come on, I have something to show you." G waggled his eyebrows.

"Oh, this I have got to see."

* * *

It was an [Airstream Flying Cloud](http://www.airstream.com/products/2010-fleet/travel-trailer/flying-cloud/flying-cloud-gallery.html), and Sam practically had cartoon hearts in his eyes as he took it all in.

"What made you decide to get it?" he asked.

G shrugged. "Guess it was just what I wanted at the time."

Sam _looked_ at him. Loudly.

G shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "Go on, use your key." He waved in the direction of the door.

Sam wasted no time after that, flinging the door open and moving swiftly around like he was clearing a residence. He wouldn't have looked out of place with his gun in his hand. After his initial circuit around the place, he opened the cabinets and poked around all the nooks and storage spaces. "Sweet," he declared, and flopped back onto the bed, arms and legs spread wide.

G flopped next to him.

Sam turned to him and said gravely, "You have got a swinging bachelor pad, my man."

So G kissed him, and not on the cheek this time.


End file.
